Chapter 40
LOCKE
Silence doesn’t always mean nothing is happening. Sometimes, it just means you’ve gotten better at blocking out the noise. Making it wait.
The loft is dark except for the city bleeding in through the windows. Neon reflections crawl across the ceiling in slow, distorted patterns. Arden is asleep against my chest, her breathing shallow at first, then gradually evening out. The kind of sleep that comes from exhaustion, not peace.
I don’t move. I learned a long time ago that stillness keeps you sharper. It lets you notice what doesn’t belong.
My phone sits face down on the coffee table. Not because it’s quiet, but because every vibration feels like a fuse is being lit. The fallout is already in motion; I can feel it. You don’t spend years navigating this industry without learning the rhythm of a scandal.
The first wave is chaos.
The second is control.
That’s where we are now: studios are scrambling, comment sections are frozen, publicists are rewriting history in real time. Luke will be condemned loudly and cautiously, in that order. Everyone will pretend they didn’t know until the moment knowing became unavoidable.
No one wants answers. They want deniability.
Arden doesn’t see any of that, and I won’t be the one to put it on her shoulders. She already made the hard choice. Everything after that is just the machine doing what it was built to do.
Outside, traffic hums below us, steady and indifferent. The sound of cars passing, horns honking, sirens wailing, they all blend into a sort of white noise that I’ve grown used to.
That’s when I hear it again. The motorcycle.
That’s the third time in the past hour.
The engine is a low rumble. It doesn’t roar, doesn’t speed past. It slows beneath the building, idles just long enough to be noticed, then moves on.
I don’t get up. Don’t look out the window. I already know.
Sebastian has never been subtle, but he’s never been careless either.
His recklessness is calculated. It’s been earned through years of surviving the kinds of situations other people stumble blindly into.
Parties, fights, messes he should’ve left alone, but didn’t.
That’s how he learned where the edges are.
How close you can get before you’re in too deep.
I haven’t seen him in weeks, not really. The last time we spoke face-to-face was when I caught him lurking in the stairwell like the angel of death. He hasn’t tried to call or text. He’s only been present when I needed him, at the hotel. Honestly, that tells me more than a conversation would.
It means something’s unresolved.
Or worse, something is going on behind the scenes that he hasn’t told me yet.
Arden shifts against me, exhaling softly, and I tighten my arm around her. It’s almost a reflex now. Whatever Sebastian is up to can stay out there with him. Tonight, my job is here.
Minutes pass. Maybe more. Time blurs when you’re the only one awake in the middle of the night. That’s when I hear it. Not on the street this time; at the door.
Not a knock. Not footsteps.
Just the faintest sound of a scrape against wood. So soft it would go undetected under normal circumstances. But tonight isn’t normal, and I’m on high alert.
I ease Arden gently back against the cushions, careful not to wake her, and stand. Every muscle in my body is already primed as I move toward the door. I pause, pressing my ear to the door to listen again. Nothing. I glance through the peephole. The hallway is empty and entirely too still.
I open the door anyway, stepping out into the hall. I turn to scan the hallway leading to the elevator. Then, I turn around, inspecting the stairwell longer than necessary. Still nothing.
For the first time tonight, I wonder if I should get some sleep. Hearing noises isn’t exactly a good sign.
As I turn back toward the door, something catches my eye that I don’t remember seeing before. A single folded piece of paper on the floor. I lean down to pick it up, and make my way back through the door, locking the deadbolt before unfolding it.
There, scrawled across the paper in red ink, are five simple words: